Savvy
Energy-sucking neon lights lit the night sky around me. Our destination was ahead. The Venetian towered in front of us in all its refined glory. Walls of glass windows. A fake canal. Oodles of water that were both decoration and recreation, making tourists forget they were in the middle of the desert.
My environmentalist brain wanted to calculate the sheer waste displayed along the Strip, but I stopped before I could summon actual numbers. My career goal was to bridge the divide between extreme change and please, just do anything to help the earth.
Others in my line of work were quickly dismissed by big companies like those that filled this desert oasis. They wanted consultants with reputations as large as theirs who charged more than anyone in my entry-level position would make in a lifetime. But my last name, Abbot, could at least make some corporations stop and listen. Between my father’s security consulting agency and the obnoxious wealth of my mother’s side of the family, I was a foot in the door.
Which explained the last-minute work trip to Las Vegas with my coworker and best friend, Brady. I’d wedge us in and keep the door open long enough for him to charm the execs with our nonprofit’s spiel: Saving Sunsets is the bridge between the bottom line and the world outside. With our expertise, we can save the environment and save you money.
Simple. Generic. But it was meant to get us a place at the conference table. Our knowledge and revolutionary ideas were supposed to take it from there. But since I’d started working for them shortly after they opened their doors, we hadn’t had much opportunity to consult. Brady and I were in our mid-twenties and a lot of CEOs doubted we had experience in anything but beer pong. Most days, my job resembled an annoying telemarketer’s. Hello, we haven’t had a chance to talk to you about your car warranty.
One more block. Tourists meandered past us, mostly couples in some form of foreplay. Hearts in their eyes, hands down each other’s pants. I didn’t expect to find anything different in Vegas on Valentine’s Day, but their footwear looked more comfortable than mine. I hadn’t packed my humanely manufactured heels and instead grabbed a cheap pair that imitated something Mother would wear, along with one of her silk blouses. The shirt was comfortable, but my toes were pinched and throbbing. Too bad we didn’t have the same shoe size. What I wouldn’t give to wear my Toms.
Can you maybe. . . not?
Bernard’s hesitant hand-wringing when he approached me about what I wore to these meetings ran through my mind. My boss was all about environmentalism, unless he thought it’d cost our fledgling and perpetually struggling nonprofit potential business. I wore my eco-friendly slip-ons, fair-labor cotton shirts, and secondhand skirts around the office; a hole-in-the-wall space in a strip mall on the outskirts of Washington, DC. But, away from the office when I met clients, I was the girl I was raised to be. I wore designer labels I hoped no one noticed were several seasons out of style.
My family was in the one percent, but I was expected to make my own way, aside from the room and board they were helping me with. And I needed their help. They’d made that perfectly clear.
When Bernard hired me, he nearly fainted when he’d learned I didn’t come with my family’s wallet.
I guess we’ll have to do some fundraising. . . or something.
Brady was in charge of the ‘or something.’ I was the affluent face of the company and Bernard was supposed to be the brains, but with each passing month, I wondered how our doors stayed open. The guy couldn’t sort his own recycling.
This trip was a prime example. Instead of doing a virtual meeting with the owner and CEO of King Oil, Bernard had flown me and Brady in coach to Las Vegas. Gentry King didn’t live or work in Las Vegas. The oil tycoon was from Montana. He’d raised his four boys there and he still worked there with his new wife, who also happened to be his assistant.
I knew all this because I’d researched his company. I’d uncovered everything I could about King Oil and the portfolio of environmental issues they championed, encouraging their investors to dive deep into their pockets.
Bernard wanted Saving Sunsets to be part of that portfolio. Badly. As soon as he’d found out Mr. King was in Las Vegas, he’d begged for an interview and booked our room and tickets. To be fair to Bernard, if we could land an account like King Oil and earn some credibility, the nonprofit would live to see another sunrise. But my carbon footprint for the year was growing at an alarming rate, thanks to the cross-country trip.
“These shoes are killing me.”
“You should’ve just worn your vegan shoes.” Brady strolled next to me with his tie loose and his suit jacket hanging open. Like me, he came from money, but unlike me, his parents had cut him off as soon as he’d veered off the politics path. In contrast, my parents had opened their doors when I’d come limping back home after four years of college, during which I had struggled to do my own laundry and feed myself. Brady, however, had found some roommates and supported himself.
The guy joked around like he didn’t take this job seriously, but he did. It was a stepping stone for both of us. Bigger and better things were ahead. The only problem was that neither of us knew where to step next, and sticking with Saving Sunsets was starting to feel like clinging to the side of a capsizing ship.
Brady glanced down at my feet. “Something tells me a guy born and raised in Montana isn’t going to know Jimmy Choos from Famous Footwear.”
“Tell Bernard that,” I muttered, wishing I’d stayed true to myself, or that these were really Jimmy Choos. “We should get there early and have time to practice our pitch.”
Mr. King was here for pleasure, but since it was easier for people to get to Vegas, he stayed longer to do business. As much as I wanted to dislike someone who spearheaded an oil company that fracked and drilled all over the earth, Mr. King seemed to keep the environment in mind. King Oil funded two wind energy projects and at least one solar energy farm. Turning his trip to Vegas into business was something Saving Sunsets would recommend: streamline travel and save all parties involved more time and money. It was more than I’d expected out of someone in his position, but exactly what I’d hoped to find.
Bernard was beside himself with excitement. Which wasn’t unusual. My boss was kind of flighty. I didn’t know how he got away with being the CEO, but I guess since the board was made up of his brother-in-law and his childhood dentist, he got to make decisions that would otherwise be questionable. Like the pricey electric car with Saving Sunsets’ logo painted on the sides. It’s a write-off.
I could think of several better ways to use that money, including a raise. It was kind of my job.
Despite Bernard’s questionable example, we tried to keep the environment in mind. Walking between hotels was a better idea than an Uber.
I’d kill for an Uber right now.
My phone buzzed. Since we were early, I stopped and pulled it out of my Saving Sunsets canvas tote. “Hold on. It’s Bernard.” I slid to the edge of the sidewalk to answer. A tongue-tangling couple with shirts that read Just Married almost ran into Brady, but he sidestepped them to stand by me. “Hey.”
“Sapphire.” Bernard’s harried voice filtered through the line. He was usually worked up about something, but this had me shooting a concerned look at Brady.
“Is everything okay?”
“No. Ohmigosh. No. I had no idea. I mean, he married my sister, you’d think he’d be more compassionate. I’m so sorry.”
“For what?” Like most conversations with Bernard, I wanted to scream, Get to the point!
“The board just met and shut us down.”
“Excuse me?”
“Shut. Us. Down.”
I struggled to follow what Bernard said on a good day, but this was startlingly clear. “But. . . but. . .how?”
“Money, Sapphire Jewel. The meeting with King Oil was my Hail Mary, but the board won’t give me another chance.”
“The president is your brother-in-law.” I put it on speaker for Brady to hear. Our heads tipped close to hear our doom.
“He said, and I quote, ‘Too many damn chances for a flake like you.’ I should’ve never trusted him. My sister never had good taste. I’m sorry. The meeting is canceled.”
I exchanged a look with Brady. We’d studied our asses off for this meeting. We’d figured out a way to pitch Saving Sunsets and how we could help King Oil provide education to its investors. We had ideas that could cut twenty years off King Oil’s pledge to be carbon neutral by 2050. All for nothing?
“So we’re going home? Can you send the flight information?” Brady asked. He hated being in suits and bitched about big cities like Vegas. Yet he and I both still lived in DC. Saving money from Saving Sunsets’ paychecks was difficult at best, but job hunting for two rich kids with no experience in the environmental field had been harder than each of us had anticipated. We’d chosen to build our resumes, but it didn’t look like Saving Sunsets was going to help with that.
“Brady,” Bernard keened. “They cut off the money. I can’t get you tickets.”
My eyes flared and I stared at my friend. “The hotel?” Bernard had gotten a suite with two rooms—an expensive one, as an apology for the last-minute late nights we’d spent cramming before flying out.
“Sapphire Jewel, I’m so sorry, my hands are tied.” His breath hitched dramatically and I could picture his hands flailing.
“Bernard, money doesn’t just run out,” Brady said evenly. “How long has the company been in trouble?”
All Bernard’s last-minute meetings and travel, his new car, and the eco-friendly suit he’d boasted was locally crafted and hand-tailored flashed through my mind. Why hadn’t I seen it before?
“Wha— I can’t—” Fake static came through the line.
Brady leaned closer. “What about our last paychecks—”
“Bad connect—” The line went dead.
I blinked at the phone.
“I can’t believe he did that.” Brady spun around, hands on his hips. “Slimy bastard. How am I going to make rent this month?”
“I’ll never be able to move out of my parents’ house.” I shouldn’t be worried about that when I was stranded in Las-freaking-Vegas. “How are we going to get home?”
He shoved a hand through his dark hair. “I don’t have any cash and my card is at the limit.” He blew out a breath and leveled his knowing gaze on me.
“No.” I scowled, shaking my head. “No. He already thinks I’m helpless and he’ll do nothing but say I told you so.”
“Savvy. It’s our only option. You know my parents won’t help.”
“Brady.” We were at an impasse. It was either call my father or walk home. We couldn’t afford a bus ticket across town, much less across the country. I’d gladly pay for the bus fare if I could. It’d cost less than whatever life lesson my father would teach me. “Fine.”
I could call Mother, but she had less compassion when I was in a tough spot than my father. She wouldn’t have let me move home if Father hadn’t talked her into giving me a chance to job hunt and save money. You don’t want the girl to end up like that poor friend of hers, living in a fetid box with others who have God knows what morals.
Brady’s roommates were nice enough and his apartment wasn’t fetid. It had. . . a smell, but with five guys and three bedrooms, it could be worse. It wasn’t the other guys, or the tiny space they resided in, it was that they lived one unexpected bill away from being homeless.
I didn’t want to be in that position again. I’d had my own little rebellions over the years and they’d all failed miserably. I’d made it through college with massive debt, using my last name to accrue too many loans, and it was nothing less than anyone expected. I was impulsive, a pampered little Sapphire.
“Sapphire,” Chief answered, his gruff tone not the comfort I wanted in the moment.
“Hey, Chief.” My oldest sister, Emerald, had coined the term and I think he liked it. Instead of Dad, he was Chief. “I, um. . .”
“Confidence, Sapphire. If you don’t speak with it, everyone will know you don’t have it.” Said as if I didn’t have any.
He was right, but only because I had been raised by a family who questioned every decision I made. I hated proving them right. I sucked in a breath and let the story pour out, every humiliating detail. The lack of transportation funds, the hotel room, and that Brady was stuck with me.
My family didn’t hate Brady. Once it’d become clear he and I didn’t have the chemistry needed to date, they tolerated him, and they helped us if we needed it. Like when Bernard had been two weeks late with our paychecks and Brady was going to get kicked out. I’d asked Chief for a cash advance—for both of us. And I’d paid it back—with interest.
It’s an important life lesson, Sapphire. Money isn’t free. You have to contribute. That usually meant a weekend or two helping Chief out in his office, on top of my regular job.
“Savvy,” he said, exasperation gusting my name out. “What if you couldn’t call me? What would you do?” He didn’t wait for my answer. I didn’t have one and I was fighting anxiety. Was this when I’d get cut off again? Left stranded? “It just so happens that I’m heading to Vegas.”
“You are?” I looked up at Brady and he cocked his head.
“King Oil was able to rearrange their schedule for a last-minute meeting.” Chief chuckled, and it was full of all the derision I’d known was coming. “Now, I know why.”
I closed my eyes. Would the humiliation ever end? Bernard’s epic fuckup was Chief’s gain. He’d never let me forget this.
“He’s agreed to meet me for lunch tomorrow. I’ve been trying to get his account for years. I’d like you to be there.”
My eyes flew open. “Why?”
Mr. King had no idea who I was, and Chief wouldn’t want to explain that I was the account that had dropped out last minute because the owner was too flighty to run a business.
“You need a job, don’t you? You still have school loans, or do you have a plan to pay those off? You can start tomorrow.”
I hated working in his security consulting company. The place sucked the life out of me. Chief was old school and had refused my insights on ways to go paperless. Instead, I had been given a yellow legal pad and a box of Bics. Then, he’d scowled at me when I’d dropped the box of pens in the middle of a meeting with a new client. Everyone had stared over their laptop screens at me while I’d picked up every pen and put them back in the box. “Chief—”
“And Lexington will be there.”
“Lex?”
“You remember him, of course.”
Chief tried to throw me in Lex’s path like I was the rare sapphire that Lex couldn’t live without. It didn’t help that Lex was interested and constantly flirted with me. A man like Chief was the last guy I wanted to marry. Brady and I had joked about getting married to throw Chief off his game, but Chief had left me alone the last few months.
I should’ve known. He loved Lex. A wonderful addition to the firm. He was in military intelligence, you know. He comes from a good family. In Chief speak, that meant Lex’s family had money. Unlike me, Lex probably had his own money.
And he had all the arrogance to show for it. I didn’t want a husband like my sister Em’s. Chief had set her up with another guy just like Lex, who happened to be just like Chief. He thought lightning could strike twice, but the last thing I wanted was a stilted marriage like Em’s, one that paralleled my parents’ way too close for comfort.
Em was a housewife, like Mother. She spent her days managing the house staff, planning soirees, and volunteering at any prestigious event that’d make her and her husband, Carter, look good. Mother had her own money, but Chief was in charge of the finances. Em was dependent on the allowance Carter gave her.
Was it wrong to try for more than that? As often as I got smacked down, it seemed like it.
“I remember Lex, but—”
“Sapphire. I’m flying to Vegas to bail you and your friend out—again. It’s time you grow up. You’ll be at lunch tomorrow and you’ll talk to Lex, and when we return home, you’ll work for me.”
“Only until I get on my feet,” I said sullenly.
“Sure.”
My teeth ground together. He didn’t think I could do it. The call ended and I filled Brady in on what Chief had said.
He whistled. “Tough blow.” His grin spread wide. “Until then, I’m partying in Vegas on Abbot money.”
I rolled my eyes. As tempting as that was, I had to prove Chief wrong. I was one more screwup away from being kicked out. I couldn’t waste time. “I think I might look for a job or something.”
“We’re in Vegas, baby. It’s Valentine’s Day. Let’s party.”
Brady was an opportunistic playboy. I avoided men like Chief but somehow ended up with guys like Brady. Somewhere between Peter Pan syndrome and commitment-phobe. That was the spectrum of men in my life.
But I wasn’t here to date. I had the rest of the afternoon and the evening to prove Chief wrong. He thought I’d give up, marry Lex, and have little babies with buzz cuts who’d grow up and work at Abbot Security.
I wasn’t that girl.
The Venetian dominated this block and spelled out love with its windows, as if the whole city was on the Chief’s side. While I waited for him to transfer money to my account, I would have to do something drastic to show him who I really was.
It was a good thing I hadn’t told Chief what I was trying to do. Finding a career-advancing job in one afternoon in a city I didn’t live in and hadn’t planned on job hunting in wasn’t my best idea. But there I was, wandering down the Strip back to my hotel.
Brady had messaged me and told me not to disturb his room because he had a guest. The guy worked fast. Good thing I had my own room in the suite. I’d have to fire up my laptop and keep searching.
My feet hurt. My head ached. And I was desperate.
A group of people dancing behind a woman holding a sign blocked my path. I slowed. I was close to my hotel. Which also meant I was close to the hotel I was supposed to have had the meeting of my career in. How awesome to get stalled at the scene of my latest failure in life.
Instead of pitching a project I was passionate about, I was going to meet Gentry King and impress him with my ability to take notes for Chief. I’d done so much research, dammit! When I learned that oil companies hired environmentalists, I’d been over the moon. Finally, I could work with a company where I did more than make a slide show telling their employees to recycle and turn their lights off.
King Oil didn’t just talk about pro-climate business practices, they modeled them. King Oil headquarters was LEED certified. They hired companies that captured natural gas instead of flaring it into the atmosphere. They invested in alternative energy projects, and they adopted energy-efficient practices. I could be part of major change instead of saving a few square feet in the landfill by using a refillable water bottle, all in an industry that had a reputation for resisting any green practices. It would be a huge ego boost after the way my parents had tried to talk me out of my environmental science degree.
But I’d be sitting on the sidelines taking notes. On paper. Then, Chief would want a copy typed up. And more copies made and distributed.
I watched the group ahead of me. It was a walking tour of the Strip. The gaggle of women had stepped out of a ’60s catalog, with gauzy shirts that revealed more than they covered, and bell bottoms more up to date than their vintage counterparts. Beneath their flower crowns, some of the women had long, frizzy hair that resembled mine. I’d finally let mine out of its tight bun, and if I hadn’t flat ironed it this morning, it’d frizz just like that.
They danced and twirled, their arms held to the sky as they laughed and giggled. It was like a Valley Girl’s reenactment of Woodstock. A little too much peace and love, not enough knowledge about the whys.
One had her flip-flops in her hand, braver than I was to walk barefoot on the concrete. Two others were hanging on each other, nuzzling necks and sneaking kisses. Of the two guys in the group, one had his mouth smashed on another flower girl’s throat, but they somehow managed to keep up with the group.
The barefoot one waved to a passing man, who gave them a wide arc and shoved his hands in his pockets like he was afraid they’d grab him and incorporate him. “Your energy is bright, my friend.”
He shot her an incredulous look and rushed past.
That was how my family saw me. Naively idealistic. Young and innocent and incapable, like a floppy-eared puppy. At home, I dressed like them. My family looked at me like that tourist had responded to news that his energy was bright.
Movement on the outer edges of the group only fueled my irritation. I was stranded in Vegas unemployed and struggling to be independent of my parents’ money. It was bad enough my father would arrive shortly to witness me at my worst. And there were these tourists being followed by a photographer, no doubt capturing their most cringeworthy moments too. Like Chief, this photographer would make an example of how their best intentions weren’t enough for the “real world.”
He crouched, his camera aimed at the group blessing their way down the Strip. He brushed shaggy, dark brown hair off his forehead as he shoved a large camera to his eye. His folded legs were long and his biceps flexed through his hemp hoodie. His wide chest was on display, thanks to the camera bag slung low over his torso. Faded blue jeans hugged his thighs and broke over cowboy boots.
Just some dude taking pictures of beautiful women? No. I didn’t know much about camera equipment, but the one he held looked serious. The lens was as big as a pomelo. He crouched, twisting himself into a pretzel to get the right angle. He was no amateur.
His half smile and the way his eyes narrowed on the group resembled the cynical grins of the older tourists passing by.
Protectiveness rose. Was he going to do some puff-piece making fun of the people here? That was how everyone in my life saw me, how they rolled their eyes when I inquired about the free-range status of the eggs I ate, or the pesticides used to grow the fruits and vegetables in the juice I drank. This man was going to immortalize that derision in photographs for others to make fun of.
My heart raced. No one from the group had noticed him, and if they did, they wouldn’t care. I cared. I cared way too deeply and that had always gotten me in trouble. I didn’t know how this would play out, but I had to stop it. I was in danger of acting before thinking, a crime my parents too often accused me of, but I’d run him out of Vegas before I let him make this crowd feel small.
Xander
I refocused and took another shot, the neon lights around us filtering down onto the men and women dancing their way down the Strip. I caught two with their hands in the air, one in a skirt that twirled around her ankles, her flip-flops held high in the air like an offering to the gods of Vegas. Highlights in her hair caught the reds and yellows of the glowing signs lining the sidewalk, giving her an ethereal quality.
“Praise Mother Earth,” one of the women called over the tour guide’s fact-dispensing speech.
Those people stood out among the other tourists roaming the night. Valentine’s Day in Vegas. For a day all about spreading love, people here were surprisingly isolated. Couples walked hand in hand, or somehow even closer, absorbed in each other and oblivious to the spectacle around them. Some singles walked by too, hands tucked into their pockets, gazes never meeting. But everyone, coupled up or single or giggling in a group, kept firmly in their bubbles. Maybe they were avoiding their family like me. Maybe they had a birthday in two days that was a milestone for all the wrong reasons. Maybe they’d made excuses like I had to get out of a family dinner and sink into some blissful anonymity.
I didn’t know what they were thinking, but those hippie tourists felt different. They didn’t ignore the people around them. They weren’t oblivious. They were ignored or ridiculed in return, but they persevered, their self-confidence winning every time.
Their free love for the world made me forget about the questions Dad had peppered me with and the way I’d avoided answering them. He asked about Grams’s persistent hounding, about what my twenty-ninth birthday meant, and about my much more successful siblings.
I’d ditched my brother’s anniversary dinner, changed clothes, and grabbed my camera. The city was full of inspiration. I should be able to get a few pictures that reaffirmed my life’s decision. Then this group had danced by and I’d wanted some of their unfettered happiness. I wanted to capture it in my lens and somehow take some for myself, to forget that I was two days away from being noncompliant with my trust fund.
I clenched my jaw and snapped a few more shots. There was a couple making out like they were going to meld into the same person. I didn’t focus on them—it seemed too intrusive, but I could include their desire in my pictures. My mind worked over various angles and how to utilize the shadows from the man-made lighting. My pulse thrummed. I hadn’t had the drive to take pictures for years. A big issue for a photojournalist. Well, a wannabe photojournalist no one wanted to buy stories from.
What had Mama always said? Don’t assume a hobby makes good business. You have to be good at business first, and be damn sure that half the appeal of your hobby isn’t that it makes you forget about business.
When I was a kid, I had no clue what Mama meant, but I got it now. The hustle of trying to make money from my photos had sucked a lot of the joy out of taking them.
But something about this wild and free group that gave zero shits about what everyone thought of them prancing down the Strip made me want to focus that energy through my lens and see if I could absorb it.
My phone was going crazy but I left it tucked into my pocket. If it were my brothers, I couldn’t trust that they weren’t trying to lure me into Grams’s web just to be dicks. If it was my dad, I’d rather continue avoiding him and the insinuations that I’d been freeloading all over the world for the last ten years.
It didn’t help that Dad was kinda right, but I was also trying to make my mark. As it was, people only listened to me when they realized who my father was. Even then, they didn’t listen for long. Big Oil meant evil in most of the circles I tried to sell my work.
I’d started using a pseudonym, but that was like starting over. My middle name and Mama’s maiden name didn’t open doors like my real name, but it didn’t get those doors slammed in my face as often as my real name did.
My phone finally went silent. My family should be used to my voicemail. I changed the aperture on my camera and refocused.
“You think that’s funny?” A voice as smooth as warm brandy washed over me. I didn’t look at the speaker. I didn’t have to—my mind filled in the pieces. A strong woman. Formidable. Determined and gorgeous. Dad had always said I was half in a fantasy world, and I was willing to stay there a little longer and listen to the mystery woman talk.
I lowered my camera and scanned the group. They were moving farther away and taking my inspiration with them. Would I ever get it back? “What do I think is funny?”
“Young people trying to make the world a better place. Take your hack fluff piece and go find a real story.”
Hack fluff piece. She thought I was a journalist? The irony was, I hadn’t made the jump to legitimate professional, but she was upset thinking I was someone I tried hard to be. Mystery Woman took me more seriously than my own family did.
I kept my gaze forward, my camera loose in my hands, and remained squatting, enjoying the hostility in her tone. I shouldn’t egg her on, but I couldn’t help it. “I’d have to figure out how they were helping the world before I had any material for an article.”
“They obviously care about the earth.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re helping it.”
She sputtered and I chuckled.
“Relax. My camera is a judgment-free zone. They made me want to take a picture, so here I am, taking a picture.”
“You aren’t a journalist?”
“Photojournalist.”
“But you aren’t doing a piece on them?”
“If I were, I’d have to interview them first. They could be a bachelorette party for all I know. I’m mostly interested in how their energy makes me feel, not how much alcohol they’ve had.” I released my camera to hang from its strap around my neck and finally looked up.
Damn. The voice hadn’t prepared me for the face. Glittering, deep blue eyes flared wide when our gazes met. Her golden-blond hair hung over one shoulder, catching the glow of the neon light, giving her a soft halo that was at odds with her sharp suit and heels.
I rose, using the movement to look her over. She was too fine to look away. Her posture went from rigid to unsure. She kept her arms crossed but stepped back. I tensed with the desire to close the distance. Something about this woman told me that I wouldn’t come across another like her, and I wanted to make the moment last. But I towered over her a few inches. I refused to intimidate her by crowding her.
She glanced at the tourists. One of them was blowing kisses to everyone who passed and telling them to treat the earth as if it were as precious as their iPhone. “So, you’re not making fun of them?”
“No. I happened to be in the area and had my camera. Do you know who they are?” I’d ask if she was with them, but her outfit was the opposite of theirs. I could picture it though. This woman with bare feet, traipsing in and around people, her long hair free and streaming behind her.
I had a good imagination. Besides her hair, she was dressed for power, not saving the environment.
“No. But I like their vibe and I know it’s one a lot of people make fun of.” Her gaze flicked around. Other than the tourists wandering farther away, she and I were alone on the sidewalk.
I took the camera from around my neck and flicked a few buttons, pulling one of my photos up on the display. It was okay for an on-the-go picture, but not one of my best. I didn’t know what my best was anymore.
If I’d finished my degree, maybe I’d have more insight instead of just guessing.
If I’d finished college, maybe I’d have a job that’d allow me to upgrade my equipment.
The woman’s stunning blue eyes turned molten when she viewed the picture. The way I adjusted the shutter speed made the lights twinkle, casting a surreal glow onto the crowd. They looked like wood nymphs trying to heal Sin City.
Those lush pink lips of hers parted. “That’s really good.”
“Glad you think so.” I’d like to be more enthused, but all I could see was how much the final image fell short of my vision. I needed a better camera, but that wouldn’t happen for a long time.
She looked up from the display. “Who do you work for?”
“I freelance, but not a lot of people are looking to do features on the denizens of Las Vegas.”
Her lips curved into a smile. “Maybe they’d find Hollywood tourists more interesting?”
I chuckled. How unexpected. She’d been ready to rip me a new one, but she’d taken the change of tone in stride. “I could try it the next time I swing through California.”
Except I was itching to leave the country again. I’d used some of my dwindling funds to come back for my brother’s anniversary celebration. I had enough to leave again, but it was exhausting. Ten years of roaming the world to make a name for myself and I was just . . . tired.
Maybe that was what made me keep talking. “I like to do articles that link different communities around the world. How we’re alike, and how we’re different in our similarities.”
She tilted her head, her expression prompting me to say more. Not just a we’re going to humor the middle kid for a minute before we brush him off look, but valid curiosity. No one had been interested in my photography since Mama had died.
I flicked through the pictures to shots of Red Rock Canyon I’d taken earlier. “These aren’t exotic, but it gives you a taste of what I do. For instance, I was in Sri Lanka not too long ago. They have rock formations, like Sigiriya Fortress and Dambulla’s caves, that are tourist attractions, similar to Red Rock Canyon. So, maybe I’d do a story on how rock formations make up the backbone of some important tourist stuff.”
So that had sounded better at the beginning. Then I’d run out of steam and blown it toward the end. Riveting shit right there. I waited for the same dubious expression I usually got after telling people my story ideas.
But she just nodded, her eyes losing focus as she thought about it. “I mean, when you think about it, geography often plays a key role in tourism. When I was in college, we studied the tradeoffs between preserving the land and bringing in money to support it.”
The longer she talked, the higher my brows went. Who was this goddess?
She peeked at the pictures, reluctantly edging closer. “Those are beautiful. The colors are so vibrant.”
I hung on the awe in her voice. “It’s at sunrise.” I had been too jet-lagged to sleep and stressing about the dinner with my family and my inevitable encounter with Grams. I’d figured a place like Red Rock Canyon was a give-me for nice pictures.
“Do you have the photos from Sri Lanka?”
“I have some of the countryside.” They were nothing I’d put in a calendar. The trip had turned out to be fruitless as far as pictures went. Anyone with a phone could take the equivalent of what I’d captured. Unwilling to explain that I took menial jobs to pay for room and board while I traveled the world and failed to make a name for myself, I steered the conversation toward her. “What do you do? Are you from around here?”
Her smile lit up the night better than any of the casinos. “Is anyone really from Vegas?”
I laughed, her quick humor still a surprise after the way she’d confronted me. She was also smart. I was just some guy in a big city asking her a semi-personal question. “Fair.”
“I, um . . . I’m kind of a consultant. On environmental issues.”
“That’s respectable work.” And it explained her defensiveness when she’d thought I was making light of the earth, air, wind, and fire brigade.
“Right. Yes.” Her gaze flickered, hiding an emotion I couldn’t identify. “I’m between jobs at the moment. I was here on business and now I’m not.”
“Long story?”
“Tragically short and predictable, I’m afraid.” She glanced around. “If I’d been paying attention.”
“As a freelancer, I’m almost always between jobs.”
Her grateful smile cut right through my chest. I swept my eyes over the curve of her full cheeks and pointed chin. Her heart-shaped face made her look youthful and innocent. But the keen look in her eyes told me that she wasn’t much younger than me.
“So I take it you’re not from Vegas either?” she asked.
“I grew up around more cattle than people.”
“Space to roam.”
I didn’t miss the wistful note in her voice. She must’ve grown up in a city. I wanted to ask more questions, know everything about her, but I didn’t even know the most basic detail. “What’s your name?”
A faint blush stained her cheeks. “Savvy.”
“Savvy.” The name rolled off my tongue too easily. Her skin glowed, soft and inviting, but she wasn’t mine to touch. “Is it short for something?”
“Yes. How about you?”
Again, fair. She’d given me her name, but I’d given her nothing. My real name was normally innocuous enough, except in certain circles. When I was back in the States, I used it less. I was in Vegas, just some normal guy taking pictures, and for some reason, I didn’t want that image to change in Savvy’s eyes.
I gave her my pseudonym. “Tate. Want to go grab a drink? I have a whole SD card of pictures I could show you.”